The van narrowly missed us. Although I was left with little more than a bruise, the Barcelona atrocity reminded me how precious life is

I woke up this morning early. I normally don’t wake early. We set our alarm for 6:30 to get to the airport, as we’re flying home from Spain today. Today I don’t need an alarm because I have my own internal alarm: it went off sometime before 5pm yesterday and it’s still ringing. I check my husband and son are beside me: they are safe.

I get up to go the bathroom and the bruise on my thigh makes it slightly sore to walk. This is my war wound. A physical reminder of what happened yesterday in Barcelona. It’s about 4in long and 2in wide, bright purple and hard to touch. It’s quite unremarkable and a small price to pay. In some ways it’s a comfort. It reminds me that I am not crazy, that what happened yesterday was real. It is a temporary tattoo and will be gone very soon. I would imagine the emotional bruise will last a little longer.

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